No matches found 买彩票快三app_陕西的快三彩票 稳赚赢钱技巧V1.33app

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      "SHORTY" said Si Klegg, the morning after Christmas, 1862, as the 200th Ind. sullenly plunged along through the mud and rain, over the roads leading southward from Nashville, "they say that this is to be a sure-enough battle and end the war."

      Riever stared. "Well ... I believe you are capable of it," he muttered. That at least was honest.

      "Miss Broome is faint," said Riever. "Get smelling-salts!"

      Pen retraced her steps more slowly up the hill. If anyone had followed her so far, he would have to let her pass him now. He would be hidden somewhere alongside the road. The thought made her heart flutter. Though she had deliberately provoked it, there was a terrible excitement in being hunted. As she walked she kept her head fixed straight ahead, but her darting eyes searched among the bushes on her left. On the other side was a cut-bank which afforded no cover.Pen explained. "The road from here up the Neck that connects us with the world has become impassable for motors, even if we had one. Even a buggy can scarcely get through now. By road it's twelve miles to the nearest white man's house. Excepting the squatters. Our only way of communication is by motor-boat with the Island. Our friends do not live on the Island. And we've no way of getting up the county."

      A sharp exclamation escaped from Pen.

      Like Indiana farmer boys of his class. Si Klegg was cleanly but not neat. Thanks to his mother and sisters, his Sunday clothes were always "respectable," and he put on a few extra touches when he expected to meet Annabel. He took his first bath for the year in the Wabash a week or two after the suckers began to run, and his last just before the water got so cold as to make the fish bite freely.


      He looked at her queerly. He could no longer contain his chagrin. "He's gone!" he said."Ye can't get through unless ye've got the counter sign," said he, decisively; "and I shan't give it to ye, nuther! And ye needn't try to show me how to hold my gun! I can handle it well enough to shoot and punch the Bayonet!"


      "Where in blazes have you fellers bin all day?" they shouted. "You ought to've got up here hours ago. We're about starved.""Lieutenant," he said to the officer, "I wish you'd please detail a man to kick me for about an hour."


      Note.On the day after he reached "Number Four," Rogers wrote a report of his expedition to Amherst. This letter is printed in his Journals, in which he gives also a supplementary account, containing further particulars. The New Hampshire Gazette, Boston Evening Post, and other newspapers of the time recount the story in detail. Hoyt (Indian Wars, 302) repeats it, with a few additions drawn from the recollections of survivors, long after. There is another account, very short and unsatisfactory, by Thompson Maxwell, who says that he was of the party, which is doubtful. Mante (223) gives horrible details of the sufferings of the rangers. An old chief of the St. Francis Indians, said to be one of those who pursued Rogers after the town was burned, many years ago told Mr. Jesse Pennoyer, a government land surveyor, that Rogers laid an ambush for the pursuers, and defeated them with great loss. This, the story says, took place near the present town of Sherbrooke; and minute details are given, with high praise of the skill and conduct of the famous partisan. If such an incident really took place, it is scarcely possible that Rogers would not have made some mention of it. On the other hand, it is equally incredible that the Indians would have invented the tale of their own defeat. I am indebted for Pennoyer's puzzling narrative to the kindness of R. A. Ramsay, Esq., of Montreal. It was printed, in 1869, in the History of the Eastern Townships, by Mrs. C. M. Day. All things considered, it is probably groundless.